


Five Things the Other Doctor Whispered in Rose's Ear

by PoppyAlexander



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bad Wolf Bay, Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, F/M, Goodbyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things the Other Doctor Whispered in Rose's Ear

“. . . you made me better,” the Doctor reminded Rose. “Now you can do the same for him.”

Tears she could no longer contain sparkled in Rose’s eyes, ready to spill. She protested, “But he’s not _you_.”

“He needs you,” the Doctor said with a wistful quarter-smile. “That’s very ‘me.’”

Donna interjected then, wanting to help Rose understand. “But it’s better than that, though. Don’t you see what he’s trying to give you?” She looked past Rose’s shoulder to the Other Doctor. ”Tell her. G’wan.”

The Other Doctor’s voice was soft and even, trying to gentle Rose out of her skittishness. “I look like him; I think like him,” he offered. “Same memories, same thoughts, same everything. Except I’ve only got one heart.”

Rose was still trying to get her feet under her. She’d come all the way from another universe to find the Doctor; her life since she’d gotten lost had a single purpose: getting back to him. She challenged the Other Doctor. “Which means. . .?”

“I’m part human,” he said simply. “Specifically, the aging part. I’ll grow old and never regenerate; I’ve only got one life. _Rose Tyler_.”

Rose’s heart quickened; when had her own, plain name become an endearment, a private code between herself and the Doctor?

The Other Doctor pressed on, “I could spend it with you. If you want.”

Rose took this in; as ever, the Doctor had her on shifting sands, and not just because they were currently standing at the edge of the sea. “You’ll gr—“ She hesitated, fumbling, unsure. “--grow old at the same time as me?”

“Together.”

Still uncomprehending, if not quite unbelieving, Rose shook her head to clear it, and reached out to lay her hand against the center of the Other Doctor’s chest, seeking proof of what he was saying in the beating of a single heart. The Doctor and Donna gazed at the two of them, expectant, hopeful.

The TARDIS suddenly let out a wheeze and they all turned to look at it. The Doctor hurriedly said, “We’ve got to go; this reality’s sealing itself off. . .” A tear streamed down Rose’s cheek as the Doctor clarified, “Forever.”

“But—“ Rose stumbled after the Doctor and Donna, who were already moving toward the TARDIS. Rose’s chest tightened with panic; was the Doctor really leaving? And was this Other Doctor really _her_ Doctor? How could he be? Her words stuttered out in a confused tumble. “It’s still not right,” she protested. “Cos. . “ She struggled for the right words. “The Doctor’s. . .still _you_.”

“And I’m him,” the Doctor replied, nodding toward his doppelganger.

It came to Rose like a flash of lightning. She had to ask both of them a question: something only the Doctor—her Doctor—would know. “All right,” she said decisively. “Both of you, answer me this.” The Doctor and his twin stood face to face, on either side of her. “When I last stood on this beach—on the worst day of my life—what was the last thing you said to me?” She looked fiercely at the Doctor. “Go on, say it.”

Plainly, the Doctor told her, “I said, _Rose Tyler_.”

“Yeh, and?” Rose demanded. “How was that sentence going to end?”

All the Doctor offered was a bland, “Does it need saying?”

Rose turned to the Other Doctor. “And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?”

Before she had even finished getting the words out, the Other Doctor was reaching out to lay his hand on her arm, leaning down toward her ear.

_“Every single decision you make creates a parallel existence. . .”_

Once, the Other Doctor whispered in Rose’s ear, “The only time in nine hundred years that I wasn’t lonely, was when I was with you.” And Rose knew this was so, because she herself hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been her whole life (so short compared with a Time Lord’s, but it was all she’d had, and it had felt so long), until the Doctor had found her. They were split halves of the same whole, and neither alone was a complete being. Their spirits called out to each other across oceans of time, vast galaxies, and the music of their yearning lit stars, spun planets. Rose knew, too, that her search for him across two universes had been nine parts loneliness and two parts longing (Loneliness wearing a Desire disguise). They healed each other, made each other better. Desperate to feel whole again, Rose crumpled the Doctor’s lapels in her hands, and kissed him and kissed him and— _at last!_ —kissed him.

In another existence, the Other Doctor whispered in Rose’s ear, “One of us is lying.” And Rose replayed the whole scene in her mind: I’m him, he’s me. . .I’m a Time Lord, he’s Human. . .same memories, same thoughts. . . _Rose Tyler, Rose Tyler_. . . Desperate for solid ground, Rose grabbed the lapels of the Other Doctor’s jacket and kissed him, and the kiss told her all she needed to know about what was real and what was a lie. As the Doctor and Donna shut the door on the dematerializing TARDIS, Rose knew she’d been tricked. He was leaving her behind again, not because he wanted her to be happy with this half-hearted shadow of him, but because he was afraid. Her Doctor was a coward, running away from the fact that he would eventually lose her to death, while he himself went on and on. The Doctor had thrown her away to spare himself the pain of losing her again. This Other Doctor—this pretender—was not her Doctor, and never would be. Here she was again, broken hearted on the dismal shores of Bad Wolf Bay. In the back of her mind, over the shattering sound of her broken heart, she heard her own voice whispering, _“This is the story of how I died.”_

The third thing the Other Doctor whispered in Rose’s ear was in a voice thickened with grief. “At long last, I have to make my confession. I need you to hear it.” And Rose’s heart broke because he had so long worn his agony like a shroud around himself that she could never cut through, and it had kept her at a distance fine as the weave of a silk scarf, and expansive as the space between suns. Now he would unburden himself to her, and she would bear it, and they would carry it together. To entrust her with his pain was a gift Rose had long awaited, and she would rise to the challenge, and if he cried she would eat his tears because she loved him, she loved him, and he was _good_ \--no matter what he had done. Rose clutched at him, grabbing the front of his jacket, and pressed her lips to his and willed him to understand, “I will take all of you, because all of you is all I have ever wanted. And you can rest inside my heart, because it is big enough to hold you and keep you safe. Forever.”

And in a fourth lifetime, the Other Doctor whispered in Rose’s ear, “My Own Rose. . .” And this was what the Doctor had always called Rose in her dreams. So she knew that he had been there, and he remembered, which meant that every dream she’d had of her Doctor was real. He had shown her blood-red galaxies dotted with stars like glittering diamonds. He had surrendered his own dreams to save her from a mortal reverie. He had made love to her in his plain little cell of a room; and he had made love to her while she was dressed in the bridal robes of his dear, lost planet of Gallifrey. He had kissed away her tears. He had promised not to forget. He had called her “My Own Rose,” and now he said it again and she knew he was her own Doctor, and he wasn’t a dream, he was real. She felt the weave of his jacket under her hands, and the coolness of his breath in her mouth as she kissed him. And in the back of her mind, it occurred to Rose that once, she had dreamed they were married.

And at last, the Doctor was right to have doubted whether it really needed saying, because what the Other Doctor whispered in Rose’s ear told her in a half-breath’s time that he really was _her_ Doctor, and had been, and would be. Because what the Doctor whispered was simple, and difficult, and obvious, and obscure. It was pure, and clear, and terrifying, and comforting. It was all Rose had ever wanted to hear, and it was so, so very precious: it was the Truth.

Rose gripped the lapels of the Doctor’s jacket in her hands, and she kissed him.

 

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> This story references two of my other Doctor Who stories, "I Shall Wake, and but the Waking, Nothing Shall Repent," and "Something Borrowed (Something Blue)."


End file.
